


Anyone Can Tell (you think you know me well)

by shes_gone



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Awkward Love Confessions, Emotional Constipation, Fuckbuddies, Jealous Arthur, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_gone/pseuds/shes_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/12301.html?thread=10171405#t10171405">This</a> <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/"></a><b>kinkme_merlin</b> prompt: <i>Arthur and Merlin have a casual sex-only relationship per Arthur’s request. But, once Merlin breaks it off to pursue something more meaningful, Arthur realizes that he has fallen in love with Merlin.</i> So my summary goes something like: Arthur is a dumbass, but gets a little better by the end. Rinse and repeat.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyone Can Tell (you think you know me well)

**Author's Note:**

> Well I guess I wrote some Merlin fic! :o! It's my first~ All my love to [](http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com/profile)[**tailoredshirt**](http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[**reallycorking**](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/) for their help, and to [](http://kaalee.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kaalee.livejournal.com/)**kaalee** for stoking this fire ~~in my loins~~. ♥. Cheesy title from the song "You Don't Know Me", which I thought was Ray Charles's but Wikipedia informs me is actually Cindy Walker and Eddy Arnold's, my bad.

Sleep is pulling at him, creeping in around the edges and settling into all the spaces where the warm, pleasant wake of his orgasm has just faded, but Arthur resists. There's a bright moon outside, high and bold, and it's illuminating Merlin's bare back in a way that he's not quite ready to stop looking at.

He reaches out and presses his thumb to the uppermost knob of Merlin's spine, then slides it down to the next, and the next, and lets his eyes drift further, following the inward curve of backbone and the outward swell of flesh, ghostly-white in this light, and he wonders what Merlin feels like inside right now. What he would find if he pressed his fingers in again, with Merlin loose and open, how the mix of come and oil inside him would feel on his fingers.

Merlin stirs at Arthur's touch and rolls over to face him, and Arthur lets his hand settle on Merlin's hip. "Don't tell me you want more?" he says, smirking.

Merlin snorts. "Bit knackered, thanks."

"You're welcome," Arthur says, smug, and Merlin rolls his eyes.

There's only a beat or so for Arthur to enjoy the exasperated smile on Merlin's face before it fades, and then he's looking at Arthur with an unsettling focus, and Arthur has to fight down instant discomfort. He's caught Merlin looking at him like this a few times, recently—intent and serious, like he's searching for something—but he's always had to _catch_ him at it. Merlin's never been quite this brazen about it, and Arthur feels something in his stomach twist. Without really meaning to, he pulls his hand away from Merlin's hip.

Merlin blinks, his focus faltering and then relenting. Finding he can breathe again, Arthur rolls onto his back and turns his eyes to the canopy. There's an awkward, strangely injured silence, and then Arthur sighs and stretches his arm out towards Merlin, glancing at him in invitation, because Merlin always wants a bit of a cuddle after sex, the great bloody girl. Merlin hesitates only a moment before accepting the offer, curling in close and settling his head on Arthur's shoulder.

Silence hovers over them for a few minutes, but Merlin is fidgety and restless. He keeps drawing breath as though to speak, and covering it with a sigh or a yawn when he changes his mind.

"All right, Merlin," Arthur finally says, "out with it."

Merlin goes still, and it's a moment before he answers, "I don't think I'll be doing this much longer."

"Doing what?" Arthur says, with a frown.

"This." Merlin waves his hand vaguely between their bodies. "With you."

"What?" Arthur asks, shifting his shoulders to better look at Merlin's face. "What are you talking about?"

Merlin lifts his head, and Arthur watches the tips of his ears go scarlet as he determinedly avoids eye contact.

"Why?" Arthur demands, and then regrets his tone, because he's never demanded this of anyone. "Have you found someone who does it better than I do?" he says, deliberately lighter, so that his indignation sounds sarcastic and teasing.

It works, and Merlin manages to meet his eye in order to shoot him an impertinent, unimpressed look. "I know it's hard to believe such a thing possible, sire."

"Am I to take that as a yes?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Not _better_ , just," he pauses, "different."

Arthur's eyebrows shoot up. "Different? Merlin, I'm a quick learner, but you do need to speak up. I can't read your mind."

Merlin huffs a laugh. "Not _that_ different," he says, cheeks pinking. "It's just... more."

"More?"

"With him, yeah."

Arthur has a hard time covering the way he bristles at that. "If I'm somehow not _satisfying_ you, _Merlin_ , I'd—"

"Oh, shut up, no, that's not—not 'more' as in... _literally_ more, 'more' as in... I think he—" Merlin stops, and swallows. "He's asked me for fidelity."

"You think he _what_?" Arthur insists.

"Loves me," Merlin answers reluctantly. "Or thinks he does, anyway."

Arthur comes up short at that. "And you?" he asks, after a moment. "Do you love him as well?"

Merlin's cheeks flush darker, and his eyes flit up to Arthur's face and away. "I don't know," he says.

"But you'd give him what he asks."

Merlin shrugs. "How else am I going to find out?"

Arthur frowns, because he finds Merlin's line of reasoning entirely illogical, but he has no idea how one goes about determining whether or not they're in love, so he hasn't got a counterargument. And even if he did, it's not really his place to argue the point: Merlin's free to do whatever he likes in this regard, and Arthur's not going to have any trouble finding his replacement. The castle is full of warm-bodied, willing servants, after all. So,

"All right."

Merlin looks up at him. "All right?" he asks, and it's like he was _expecting_ a counterargument.

"Yes," Arthur says, "all right. And I... wish you luck in sorting yourself out."

Merlin looks at him a moment, his expression of surprise fading into something Arthur isn't sure he likes, but then he smiles and it's gone. "Thanks," Merlin says, and Arthur nods.

There's another silence, an uncomfortable one that's got a strange mix of finality and uncertainty about it, and Arthur's not sure what comes next. He's still got his arm around Merlin's shoulder, and he half-expects Merlin to just settle back in and breathe hot breath against his neck until Arthur dismisses him, like he always does.

Merlin doesn't settle. He stays very still, his head awkwardly hovering over Arthur's shoulder, like he's got no idea what he should do—like he's got no idea what he _wants_ to do, by the look of it, so Arthur makes the decision for him.

"Early hunt tomorrow," he says. "You should go get some sleep."

Merlin nods and, after a moment, rolls away and out of bed. Arthur watches him collect and put on his clothes, and the whole time Merlin's frowning, like he's thinking, like there's something more he wants to say.

He's already at the door, though, hand resting on the latch, and he hasn't said a thing when he looks back at Arthur, opens his mouth—and then closes it.

Arthur takes pity. "Merlin, I would insist that you promise me none of this will affect the performance of your duties," he says, "but that would suggest I'm satisfied with the way you perform them now." He smirks at Merlin's indignant expression. "So let's just let it lie, shall we?"

Merlin snorts and rolls his eyes, but his "Good night, sire," is an agreeable one.

"Good night, Merlin," Arthur says, and rolls over into his pillow with a smile.

He has a surprisingly hard time falling asleep, given how tired he is.

**»»» «««**

The castle _is_ full of warm-bodied, willing servants, it's true. Brimming with them, in fact. The summer Arthur was eighteen, he had seven of them on rotation, four girls and three boys; all he had to do was look at one of them the right way during dinner, or from the training field, or in the corridor, and he or she would appear in his chambers that evening, half an hour or so after he retired for the night.

The day after Merlin's little announcement, Arthur gets to thinking about those seven, wondering who's still around, and who might still be game. He spots one of them over dinner, Rosetta or Susanna or... something, and makes a point of catching her eye as she brings a fresh platter of fruit to the table. She smiles at him, and dips her head in response, but Arthur's not sure the message gets across: it seems more of a perfunctory _Enjoy, my lord_ nod than a _Certainly I'll attend to you later in the nude, my lord_ nod.

And, indeed, she makes no appearance in his bedchamber that night.

The next day it's Anice, and the day after that it's Quentin, and on the fourth consecutive night that Arthur sits awake with one eye on the door, he comes to the conclusion that clearly Merlin's brand of stupid is rubbing off on the _rest_ of the servants, because when the hell did they all become so dense? He hasn't called on any of them in some time, it's true, since he fell into this habit with Merlin, but it hasn't been _so_ long that they should have forgotten his signals altogether.

It's perfectly ridiculous, he thinks, how much forethought it seems to take to get anyone besides Merlin into his chambers after dark. He supposes there's nothing for it, though, so the following night, he kills half an hour inspecting his wardrobe for neglected mending so he'll have reason to yell at Merlin in the morning, and then makes his way down to the kitchens. She's there, bent over a wash basin and scrubbing something, and Arthur remembers her name with complete certainty as he smiles at an old memory of her similarly bent over the arm of his favourite chair.

"Susanna," he says, gently, hoping he won't startle her too badly. She startles, of course, and whirls around, and her expression goes from surprised to worried, to relieved, to disbelieving, and then full-circle back to surprised over the course of the next few minutes which, admittedly, Arthur handles rather poorly. He really _is_ out of practice.

It doesn't actually matter, though, and it's not long before they're back in his chambers, Arthur flat on his back in the bed with Susanna riding his cock. She's gorgeous, even better than Arthur remembered, with deft fingers and a wicked mouth and a hot, wet cunt that slides over Arthur's cock like a sheath. Arthur presses up into her, and notes with some surprise a stiff sort of ache in his abdomen and shoulders from this morning's training.

He smiles, because he didn't actually train this morning, he just whacked Merlin about with his sword for a while, and it seems the skinny idiot has finally got a bit stronger. And then he frowns, because he remembers that while Merlin had impressed him, going to the trouble of actually lifting his sword and attempting to parry a little, Arthur had noticed a few spots under his arms where the old top he was wearing had worn almost completely through. With a quick mental inventory of his wardrobe, Arthur resolves to give Merlin the blue tunic he rarely wears anymore, and the red one that's never quite fitted him right in the shoulders.

"Sire?" comes a girl's voice, and Arthur blinks up at Susanna, whose hips have stopped moving, though her bare chest is still rising and falling obscenely. "Is something the matter?"

Arthur stares at her breasts a moment, somewhat astounded with himself, and then looks deliberately up into her troubled face. "No," he says, suppressing an urge to apologise.

"Would you—would you like your pleasure another way, my lord?"

"No," Arthur says, "this is lovely."

"Are you sure?" she says hesitantly.

"I'm sure."

"Because, sire, I've learnt a few things, since the last time," she says. "So if you'd—"

 _Christ_ , Arthur thinks, _it doesn't matter, just get on with it._ "I like this," he says firmly, brokering no more argument, and rubs his hands over her splayed thighs encouragingly. Her smile is less than heartfelt in the moment before she resumes her efforts, so he reaches for her hand and pulls it down between her thighs. "Though I think I would also like," he says, "to watch you take your pleasure as well."

Her smile at that pulls a satisfied smile onto Arthur's lips, and he puts all his energy into snapping his hips up into her as her fingers go to work. She makes quite a show of climaxing at almost the same moment he does, and while he suspects that her pleasure might be something less than genuine, he can't think of a single reason why it should matter.

**»»» «««**

High afternoon sunlight is pouring in through the window, warm on the back of Arthur's neck. Merlin's behind him as well, attending to straps and clasps and buckles, and Arthur doesn't shiver when fingers, warm from the sun and their work—fingers that haven't touched his cock in over two weeks—brush over his skin.

There's a companionable silence between them, as there often is while they go through these routines, and Arthur's glad. He takes comfort—more than he should—in the fact that his relationship with Merlin truly seems unaffected by the change in their habits.

In fact, he hasn't seen any change in Merlin at all. So far as he can tell, Merlin doesn't seem to be any more happy, or any more fulfilled than he did before he committed himself to fidelity, and this leaves Arthur unsettled, because whoever this person is, he ought to be treating Merlin better than that.

"Have you worked it out yet?" he asks.

"Can you be more specific?" comes the reply, wary, like Arthur's about to inquire after some ridiculous, obscure thing he ordered Merlin to do weeks ago.

"Whether or not you're in love."

Merlin's fingers go still at Arthur's shoulder. "Um," he says after a moment. "Not yet, no."

"Mmm," Arthur replies easily. "And how is it, if you don't mind my asking, that you're planning to find out, exactly?"

Merlin's quiet a moment before his fingers resume their task, tightening the shoulder strap a bit over-zealously.

Arthur huffs indignantly. "It's an honest question. I'm quite curious."

"You're not."

"I am!"

Merlin snorts and finishes what he's doing, then reluctantly steps around in front of Arthur to check all's secure. Arthur looks at him expectantly. After a moment, Merlin meets his eyes, sceptical.

"Well?" Arthur says.

"You really want to talk about this?"

"Yes. I want to know what you're going to do."

"I'm not going to _do_ anything," Merlin says, rolling his eyes. "It's just, you know. Wait and see."

"Wait and see what?"

"What it—feels like."

"And how should it feel?"

"I don't _know_ , I—haven't you ever been in love?"

"Not that I've noticed."

Merlin just looks at him, then rolls his eyes and steps over to the table for Arthur's gloves, helmet and sword.

"You said it's different with him," Arthur says as Merlin slides his sword into place and holds out the gloves in turn. "Is that true? Is it different bedding someone you love?"

Merlin looks up in surprise at the earnest tone of Arthur's question, and studies him a moment, trying to determine if he's being mocked, before answering. "Yes," he says. "It is." He holds Arthur's helmet out to him with a sense of finality, clearly hoping that Arthur being fully dressed means the conversation can end.

"How?" Arthur persists.

Merlin sighs, exasperated. "I don't know, it just—it's—" He stops and looks away, eyes darting around the room, like he's thinking. "It matters," he finally says.

Arthur frowns. "It matters."

"Yes," Merlin says, the tips of his ears going red.

"Matters _how_?"

"I don't _know_ , for god's sake, don't you have some would-be knights to go humiliate?" Merlin whinges, shoving the helmet into Arthur's gloved hands.

Arthur watches the flush spread to Merlin's cheeks, and smirks. "Are you going to tell me who he is?"

Merlin snorts. "I'm not that stupid."

"He is real, though, right?"

"Sod off, _sire_ ," Merlin says, but the edges of his mouth quirk up, and Arthur chuckles.

**»»» «««**

And then, another two weeks later, there's a spring back in Merlin's step that's been gone for ages.

Arthur notices it and frowns, because now that it's back, he can't remember exactly how long ago it went missing. Weeks? Months? He tries not to think on it too much, because of course, he's pleased that Merlin's happy—that someone's making him happy—and he doesn't need to know who it is, though he suddenly very much wishes that he did. He can't really blame Merlin for keeping the information close to his chest, since Arthur would use it for no other purpose than to tease him mercilessly, but there's a persistent, plucking need just to _know_ that Arthur finds he can't get rid of.

So as the castle prepares for the harvest banquet that's to take place later in the week—a very large banquet, and well-attended by a wide cross-section of the people of Camelot—Arthur informs Merlin that he shouldn't serve only the high table during the festivities, but rather should be of assistance wherever he is needed.

"Are you sure?" Merlin asks, surprised.

"Yes," Arthur says. "The servants in the kitchen will have far more to do than they're used to, and I'm sure they'd appreciate the help."

A bemused smile passes Merlin's lips. "That's very thoughtful of you, sire," he says, with barely any sarcasm at all, which Arthur finds disconcerting.

At the feast, Arthur tracks Merlin's every movement as he walks the length of the long tables, carrying a carafe and looking for empty goblets. He watches the face of every person Merlin talks to, or makes eye contact with, and his suspicions are aroused a few times before he realises that Merlin smiles at almost everyone, and a remarkably large number of them smile back. Even the knights—perhaps _especially_ the knights, Arthur considers with a frown—are more friendly with Merlin than they are with any of the other servants.

"You getting along up here without me?" Merlin asks brightly, when his rounds bring him to the high table.

"Scraping by somehow, yes," Arthur says.

Merlin grins, and reaches for Arthur's goblet. "Good," he says, lifting and filling it, "because I like mingling. Everyone's in such a festive mood, and I'm not trapped over here with you and all your surliness."

"Mmm," Arthur hums, and it shouldn't be this hard to think of a suitably cutting rejoinder, but he's distracted by the way the tendons in Merlin's thin wrist stand out as he wraps a firm grip around the goblet.

**»»» «««**

"Sire?" comes a man's voice, and Arthur blinks away the image of a wrist he's no longer welcome to touch and a goofy smile that's the work of someone else, and looks down at Brishen—no, Kenrick—no... _bugger_ —who's pulled his mouth off of Arthur's cock and is looking up at him with an uneasy expression. "Is something wrong, sire?" he asks. "Would you rather have your pleasure another way?"

Arthur frowns and looks at him—his lips pink and wet and glistening, his dusty brown curls a dishevelled, alluring mess—and considers that there might be something deeply wrong with him—Arthur—because getting his cock sucked by a mouth like that used to, at the very least, hold his attention.

**»»» «««**

The dinner Merlin sets down in front of Arthur is huge. Absurdly, ridiculously huge. Again. Arthur looks up at him with raised eyebrows. Merlin just smiles at him, and then scans the room appraisingly, looking for any last bit of cleaning that needs doing.

Arthur watches him, and tries not to frown. Ever since this pleasant mood of Merlin's has returned, he's been uncharacteristically—bizarrely, even—attentive to his duties, particularly in the evenings. Whenever Arthur takes his dinner in his chambers, Merlin brings him a veritable feast, and then busies himself with all the things Arthur hasn't ordered him to do yet.

It's probably just to speed things up, Arthur thinks. It saves him a second a trip to the kitchen and gets him dismissed for the evening a bit more quickly, so that he can hurry off to his—whoever it is that's waiting for him.

Merlin's inspection of the room turns up nothing, since he's already cleaned it all, so he looks at Arthur expectantly.

It's the work of only a moment for Arthur to compile a list in his head of fifteen unnecessary but amusing things he could order Merlin to do, but then Merlin's eyes flit to the door and hover there, thoughtfully, and without quite knowing why, Arthur says, "That'll be all, Merlin."

Merlin looks back at him in surprise. "All?" he says.

"Yes," Arthur replies. "You can go."

"But," Merlin says. "You haven't eaten yet. And won't you want a bath after dinner?"

"Tomorrow'll be fine," Arthur says, shrugging.

"Oh." Merlin looks around, seemingly at a loss. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

There's silence, for a moment.

And then, "Oh!" Merlin says, and starts toward the wardrobe. "I still haven't got to that mending yet, that you've been on about for ages, so I'll just—" he trails off, opens the cupboard door and begins rooting around.

"Merlin," Arthur says, flatly. "I'm trying to give you the night off."

Merlin stops short, and looks even more confused. Then his eyes narrow. "Why?"

Arthur scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Because I'm trying to be nice! I see you there, casting your wistful glances at the door, and I just thought I'd show you a bit of kindness. Nice to know it's appreciated."

Merlin looks at the door, quizzically, and then back to Arthur. "S'just got a bit squeaky," he says. "Was thinking I need to remember some grease for the hinges."

"Oh," Arthur says, wrong footed. He looks at the door, which, come to think of it, has been squeaking a bit lately. "So... you're not tripping over yourself to leave, then?" he says to Merlin, who tilts his head to the side, clearly now wary of what he might be opening himself up to. "Won't he be waiting for you?"

Merlin stares at him, brow creasing in ever deeper confusion. "Gaius?"

Arthur splutters. "I really, _really_ hope not, no. I mean your... you know. Him."

Merlin's face remains completely, idiotically blank.

"You _idiot_ , your suitor, or whatever he is. The one you've been trying to 'figure things out' with," Arthur explains, waving his hands around.

" _Oh_ ," Merlin says, and goes quiet. "Actually," he says, after a few moments, "that's, um. That's done."

Arthur blinks. "Done?" he asks, and wishes it had come out a bit more casually.

"Yeah, um. Not—doing that. Anymore."

"Oh," Arthur says, and has to think on that a moment. " _That_ being fidelity, or..." he stops.

Merlin's ears go red. " _That_ being anything," he says. "Not that it's any of your business."

"No, of course not," Arthur agrees, and there's only a moment's pause before, "Not in love with him, then?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Turned out not, yeah."

"I see. So, if you don't mind my asking," Arthur says, and Merlin purses his lips disapprovingly but doesn't say anything, "if you're not in love with him, and you're not even sleeping with him, what on earth has been making you so bloody happy lately?"

Merlin frowns, surprised, and then shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "Was a bit of a relief, I suppose. I was feeling pretty guilty about it."

"Guilty?" Arthur says, in genuine confusion. "What for?"

"For..." Merlin pauses, "not giving him what he wanted."

"So you weren't faithful?" Arthur asks.

"That's not all he wanted," Merlin says, shaking his head. "Not really." He stops, looking at Arthur measuringly a moment, before continuing. "And I—I know what that's like—to want something from someone that they can't give you, or won't give you—or just _don't_ give you—and it's not fun. It's—it's awful, actually." He swallows, the colour in his ears spreading down over his face.

"I see," Arthur replies, feeling oddly hollowed-out. It occurs to him that if he asks again, right now, Merlin might tell him who this person is—was, whatever—but he suddenly finds it unimportant.

"So, while I'm _sure_ I'll regret saying so," Merlin continues after a long moment, "I wouldn't actually mind keeping busy. For a while."

Arthur considers the lengthy list of tasks-for-Merlin he always keeps in his mind, and says, "Have you eaten yet?"

Merlin blinks. "No," he answers, and it sounds like a question.

Arthur shrugs. "Well, you've brought me enough dinner for about six people, so fetch a stool and come eat it with me." Merlin doesn't move, and looks a bit startled. "And yes, that's an order," Arthur says. "Look at yourself, you're an embarrassment. Eat more."

Merlin looks like he's going to argue, for a moment, but then, "All right," he says, and pulls a stool up to the table.

**»»» «««**

An hour later, or perhaps two, or however many it takes for the evening sunlight to disappear from the window completely, they still haven't finished the food, but they _have_ finished the wine. Merlin's been back to the kitchen for more, and that's gone, too, and now Arthur's slumped in his chair and Merlin's sprawled out on his back atop the table, of all places, laughing ridiculously over... something. Arthur knew what it was a moment ago. But then Merlin let his arms flop out on either side of him, one of them right in front of Arthur's lap, and now Arthur's completely transfixed by the stretch of pale skin over bony wrist and long fingers.

He stares at it and wonders, given the change of circumstances, if Merlin would mind if he just—and then it's too late to wonder, because he _is_. Without quite meaning to, he finds he's reached out, and his fingers are sliding over the back of Merlin's hand, his thumb rubbing over the fine blue lines in his wrist.

It takes Merlin a moment to even notice, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his laugh quiets into a giggle and then tapers into nothing, and then his head is turned and he's looking down at Arthur's thumb on his wrist. He stares at it, for the space of a couple breaths with something that looks alarmingly like alarm, and Arthur thinks he might to pull away.

He doesn't. His gaze, entirely too careful for a man who's had this much wine, shifts up to Arthur's face.

"Are you—" Arthur starts. "Are you available, then?"

Merlin looks at him a moment longer and then sits up, pulling his wrist away from Arthur's reach, and sending something knifing into Arthur's gut. There's a long moment while Arthur tries to think of something to say.

But then Merlin swivels around to face him, leans down and kisses him, hard and fast, and Arthur has to suck in a breath before he can kiss him back. And then he does, eagerly, leaning forward and pressing himself up between Merlin's knees for better leverage, and if he comes across as a bit more anxious than he'd like, it's because of the wine, and because it's been _ages_ , and because no one else in this castle seems to know how to fuck anymore—since there is clearly nothing wrong with _him_.

When Merlin pulls Arthur's bottom lip into his mouth and scrapes over it with his teeth, Arthur grunts and grabs him by his backside, hoisting him down off the table and into his lap. Merlin huffs a moment, surprised, but rolls up onto his hips so Arthur can feel his cock against his belly, and _fuck_.

Arthur slides his hands up underneath the back of Merlin's tunic, splaying his fingers wide over smooth, hot skin, and has to pull him in even closer for how perfect it feels. Merlin stills, letting himself be pulled, and Arthur can feel his heartbeat, wild and strong, against his palms.

Merlin stays still after Arthur releases him, and doesn't move when Arthur starts bunching up his tunic, eager to pull it up and off so he can touch more of what's underneath. Arthur looks up at him in question, and Merlin looks lost, unsure, wrecked with indecision, and Arthur doesn't under _stand_.

"What do you _want_ , Merlin?" he asks, and maybe he wanted it to sound a bit impatient, a bit irritated, but it doesn't sound like that at all.

Merlin's eyes open, and bore into Arthur's, brazen and searching, and it takes every inch of royal backbone Arthur's got to hold his gaze.

"Inside," Merlin says after an eternal moment. "I want you inside me," he says, and maybe that's not quite what Arthur meant, but it seems to answer to question well enough.

"Brilliant," Arthur says, and presses a kiss to the edge of Merlin's mouth.

**»»» «««**

Afterwards, Arthur lies on his side with his forehead pressed to Merlin's back, feeling the sweat cool against his skin. His gaze drifts down to Merlin's arse, and Arthur wishes they hadn't been so desperate, because he misses it already—the sounds Merlin made as Arthur pressed inside, and the hot, slick feel of Merlin all around him, demanding and accommodating at once, pushing and pulling, wringing everything Arthur's got out of him.

Now, Merlin is warm and still. Arthur can still feel his heartbeat through his back, fainter and slower than it was a bit ago, and he fights the urge to press his mouth to Merlin's spine, to see if he can feel it through his lips. Instead, he rolls away, onto his back, and feels the cool air slide over all the spots where they were touching.

Merlin doesn't move, and Arthur wonders, as he stares up at the canopy, if he's asleep.

He wonders about a lot of things, actually, that he doesn't understand, exactly all of which relate directly to Merlin in one way or another. It's a bit overwhelming, truth be told, and so Arthur turns his thoughts deliberately towards something he _can_ understand—tomorrow's hunt, for example—and hopes that Merlin will stay, for a while, because he's going to need some time to figure it all out.

But then Merlin's rolling out of bed—not asleep, apparently—and collecting his clothes. Arthur frowns, because Merlin never used to leave until Arthur dismissed him. He watches as Merlin pulls on his trousers and fumbles at the laces with fast, nervous fingers.

"Merlin," Arthur says.

"I know," Merlin answers, "hunt tomorrow. Early breakfast. Right."

"Merlin," Arthur says again, with more weight, and he sits up. Merlin looks at him, a bit startled, and Arthur has to swallow against the sudden rush of heat in his throat, because, fuck, this _matters_.

"Yes?" Merlin prompts, after a moment.

"I want you to know that I—" Arthur stops, because he doesn't know what to say.

Merlin waits.

"It would mean a great deal to me," Arthur tries, "if you weren't to take any other lovers while we—during this, um."

Merlin's eyes go a bit wide.

"If it helps," Arthur says. "I won't be."

Merlin stares at him, and doesn't move. Arthur feels himself start to waver under his unblinking gaze, but forces himself not to falter.

"Oh," Merlin finally says. And then, hesitantly, "Is that really what you want? Or is this because you think it's what I want?"

Arthur cocks an eyebrow. "Do you often know me to do things I don't want to do, in order to appease the feelings of my servants?"

Merlin gives a helpless little scoff, and his eyes flit briefly to the rumpled, dirty bed sheets before returning to Arthur's, demanding a proper answer. Arthur knows he's thinking of all the similarly dirty sheets he's pulled off of Arthur's bed in the past few weeks, and Arthur feels himself flush.

"While you were gone," Arthur says, and then his cheeks burn painfully, because Merlin wasn't _gone_ , for fuck's sake. "It's—different now," he manages, a long moment later. "The others, they're—they're still pleasing to me, in their way, but none of them—" He swallows, the words sticking in his throat. "None of them matter."

Merlin stands very still, and Arthur watches as the weight of what he hasn't quite articulated settles in. "Yeah?" he finally says, after a trembling silence.

"Yeah," Arthur says, and he really means it.

Merlin grins, and suddenly Arthur's warm all over— _physically_ warm, like the sun's just come out, or has started issuing its warmth directly from Merlin's beaming face. For a brief, unbalanced moment, Arthur almost thinks he can _see_ it: a small flash of golden sunlight in Merlin's eyes that soaks right into his skin, leaving him breathless and awed and confused—but then Merlin's on top of him, back in the bed with his arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him and grinning so hard he might burst, and Arthur can do nothing but grin and kiss him right back.


End file.
